


Touch Me

by Kyra_Bane



Series: Kinktober 2020 [The Old Guard] [7]
Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blasphemy, First Time, Frottage, Kinktober, Kinktober 2020, M/M, Touch-Starved, Touching, Truth or Dare, just a little
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:27:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26904373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kyra_Bane/pseuds/Kyra_Bane
Summary: When Quynh suggests playing a game Nicolò has never heard of, he places his faith in Yusuf and Andromache and goes along with it. Only, this game comes with a twist – forcing Nicolò to confront a topic he’s been avoiding for years.
Relationships: Andy | Andromache of Scythia/Quynh | Noriko, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Series: Kinktober 2020 [The Old Guard] [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1930153
Comments: 26
Kudos: 508





	Touch Me

**Author's Note:**

> kinktober day 6 prompt: abstinence/chastity
> 
> not uh quite that but you'll see where i'm coming from (i hope!)
> 
> also did you notice there was like no angst yesterday? that's because it's all here!! this fandom can fit so much angst inside (but it's all good because it a l w a y s works out)

Beyond curling up together at night, they barely touch anymore. It’s been months since they finally met Andromache and Quynh and Nicolò knows he should be more taken by their age, their experience, the way they defy every stereotype he’s ever known of what a woman _should_ be – but all he notices is the easy way they express their affection for one another.

Andromache greets Quynh with a hug, always, whenever they’ve been apart. They press their foreheads together, whisper words neither he nor Yusuf listen for. She is almost careless with her chaste touches – and that extends to Yusuf too, now, but Nicolò is not quite at that point. Not yet.

Quynh is a little different. Nicolò already recognises the light in her eyes before she decides to do something; either before she pushes one of them over, or kicks their feet out from under them, or leaps onto their back. It’s the same light in her eyes she gets when she climbs into Andromache’s lap and pulls her head back to kiss her, always deep and loving by the light of the dying fire.

And there is, of course, the way their hands brush together when they pass each other things, the way they’re completely in sync, in battle and out of it, in a way Nicolò has never seen before.

He and Yusuf were getting there, he thinks. It’s a cold night; he’s huddled up in his cloak and Quynh is on Andromache’s lap. Yusuf is sitting to Nicolò’s left, and there’s an arm’s length between them.

It might as well be a vast ocean. Yusuf still looks to him, as they talk. Whenever Quynh says something to make him laugh, he turns that initial smile on Nicolò and it almost hurts to look at him, sometimes; it feels like looking at the sun. 

He loves Yusuf, is the crux of it. And oh, Yusuf knows. How could he not, when he _died_ and it was all Nicolò could say as he waited for Yusuf to come back, the words falling from his lips easier than any prayer, and Yusuf _had_ come back and they had kissed, and for one glorious moment, Nicolò had tasted the copper tang of blood, felt Yusuf’s skin under his fingertips, heard the siren song of a needy, cut-off groan, and he had known, then, it was the closest he would ever come to Heaven.

Except Heaven had been dragged out from under him far too quickly. How could this be it? He knows not everything he was taught is true – Yusuf is proof enough of that – but it turns out even several decades are not enough to tune out those thoughts in the back of his mind, the ones that tell him, _you were to be a priest, Nicolò, and yet see how much you lust for sin…_

He had pulled away from Yusuf quickly and then helped him up – and they did not talk about it but Nicolò did not realise how much they had been touching each other until it stopped.

_“So,”_ Quynh says and there’s that light in her eyes again but she’s looking between him and Yusuf, now. “Do you want to play a game?”

Quynh’s games are always interesting, Nicolò will give her that. Andromache grins and Yusuf’s smiling too, and so Nicolò nods. 

“What game is it?” he asks.

She slides off Andromache’s lap and leans toward the fire. “Hm, I’m not sure what you’d call it. Basically, we go around the circle and each person chooses someone and then _that_ person decides if they want to tell a truth or if they want to do a task the first person assigns.”

“Alright,” Nicolò says. Compared to some of Quynh’s other games, it sounds relatively tame.

Except, then he sees the look Andromache and Yusuf exchange and he realises two things – everyone else has played before and they all know it goes very differently to what he’s imagining.

“I’ll go first!” Quynh says. “Andromache?”

Andromache smiles behind her hand. “Dare,” she says. 

“Kiss me.”

Nicolò snorts at that, and Yusuf looks at him and Nicolò can’t look away. He hears Andromache and Quynh kiss, over his heartbeat thudding in his ears, and only when Andromache clears her throat do they both startle.

Quynh’s grinning like the cat that got the cream. “Your turn, my love,” she says to Andromache.

Andromache looks at Nicolò. “Truth or dare?” she says, _her_ apparent name for the game.

Nicolò licks his lips. He’s not certain what they might dare him to do but he doesn’t want to risk it. “Truth.”

Andromache drums her fingers on her thighs. “Do you still believe it? What you were fighting for?”

It’s… not what he was expecting. He feels Yusuf’s gaze on the side of his face. They haven’t spoken about it in years, their first death, and he realises he’s never said it aloud so frankly.

“No,” he replies. Beside him, Yusuf lets out a soft sound.

Quynh is still smiling, but it has gone indulgent; he knows she was wary of him at first, because of that. Andromache nods.

He doesn’t want to look at Yusuf. But he _has_ to because he doesn’t really know how this game works and Yusuf will take it easy on him, if he gets it wrong.

Only, Yusuf’s eyes are shining and Nicolò seriously risks being caught up in them…

“Truth or dare?” he squeezes out and Yusuf looks, suddenly, away.

“Truth.”

Nicolò is surprised. Still, he wants to lighten the mood a little, so he says, “What’s the most embarrassing way you’ve died?”

Yusuf’s mouth drops open. “You _wouldn’t.”_

Nicolò laughs and Quynh is laughing too, even though she doesn’t know the story yet. Maybe she dreamt it. It was a long time ago, after all.

“Fine,” Yusuf says, mock-annoyed. “So, early on, when I was being stalked by this feral Frank–”

Nicolò huffs. Yusuf pauses to shoot him a grin.

“Anyway, we were walking near some cliffs and Nicolò was complaining the whole while, thinking I could not understand him, so I _pretended_ to fall over the edge.”

“Pretended,” Andromache says, flatly.

Yusuf shrugs. “It was not that far a fall, all things considered, but waking to the sight of Nicolò standing over me, looking faintly disappointed was…” His breath catches and he looks at Nicolò before he glances away again. “Something.”

Quynh snorts. “Don’t worry too much,” she says. “You’ll find much more embarrassing ways to die, I’m sure.”

Nicolò isn’t sure if it’s supposed to be comforting. It kind of is.

Yusuf turns his attention to Quynh. “Truth or dare,” he says, and their grins match.

“Dare.”

Yusuf looks at Andromache first, then Nicolò. “Make us smile,” he says.

Oh, this is going to be a difficult one. Quynh stands and stretches first, as though limbering up for a fight. Then she deposits herself back into Andromache’s lap. “Oh, my love, my stars…” Andromache raises an eyebrow, unimpressed, until Quynh licks a stripe up the side of her face. 

Her lips twitch before she laughs and Quynh rewards her with a kiss. They part, smiling at each other, and Nicolò’s heart hurts.

She comes for him, next. He’s an easy one, for her – she and Yusuf share a similar sense of humour, which makes him the harder nut to crack, but Nicolò easier, since he adores Yusuf’s jokes anyway. She crouches so she’s at eye-level with him, starts telling a ridiculous story of how she once managed to trade up from a fig to three camels – and Yusuf is sputtering beside him, the merchant in him revolting at the skill – and Nicolò makes it maybe halfway through before he cracks.

Quynh crows when he smiles, leans up to kiss him on the cheek and Nicolò doesn’t mind that at all, actually; not that she notices, already moving onto Yusuf. She sits between the two of them, resting her head on Yusuf’s shoulder as she whispers into his ear.

Nicolò knows, _knows,_ that she’s just playing the game. He can see the way Andromache is looking at her, heart-achingly fond, and it’s not that he’s spinning fantasies of the two of them together…

It’s that Yusuf _fits_ here, with them. And Nicolò had thought they had fit together, the two of them, except he’s already ruined that and it’s maybe only a matter of time – time, they have _so much time_ – before he ruins this, too.

Whatever Quynh’s said, Yusuf is suddenly laughing, loud and deep, and Nicolò can’t do this anymore. He doesn’t want to fight his own feelings but that’s _all_ he’s been doing, warring with himself, and if he doesn’t know what he wants, then how can he expect anyone else to?

“Excuse me,” he says and stands. They’re all looking at him and it’s not like he’s going to leave; he just needs to be away from here, right now.

He turns and walks away, toward the trees. He can still hear the low murmur of voices behind him and doesn’t try to hear what they’re saying. 

He’ll be fine soon, he knows. He’s doubted before – his purpose, his faith – and he will do it again.

Yusuf grabs his elbow as he reaches the first tree. Nicolò startles at the touch, turns, and Yusuf drops his hand as though he’s been burnt.

“Are you alright?” he asks, keeping a respectful distance, and Nicolò wants to scream.

He swallows it down. “I’m fine.”

Yusuf growls and marches toward him; Nicolò backs up until he walks into a tree trunk. When Yusuf plants a hand next to Nicolò’s head, he all but gasps – they aren’t touching, but they’re close to it.

“Don’t _lie_ to me, Nico,” Yusuf says. “Please; you do not have to tell me but do not lie.”

Nicolò nods and there are tears stinging his eyes because the expression on Yusuf’s face is making his heart hurt. “I’m sorry,” he says and drops his head forward. Yusuf is there to meet him, one hand sliding around the back of his neck and Nicolò grabs at Yusuf like a dying man.

Yusuf whispers against his skin, all of it soft, and when Nicolò lifts his head again the doubting voice is the faintest it has ever been. 

He knows it isn’t gone. Still, he says, “I love you,” because he can’t lie to Yusuf and he wants him to know and he wants to fight his fear, for once.

Yusuf lets go of him.

“Nicolò, you do not have to–”

Nicolò shakes his head. “I am _in love_ with you,” he says. Each word comes out slow and careful, as deliberate as he can make it.

Yusuf stares at him for a long moment. “I thought it was just because I died,” he says. Then adds, “I haven’t died since.”

No, he hasn’t. He hasn’t died because Nicolò has been there, throwing himself in front of blades, in between Yusuf and anything that would do him harm.

Nicolò, in all truth, has not really noticed he has been doing it. 

“I can’t watch you die,” he says.

Yusuf frowns. “Yet you let me watch _you_ die, over and over again?”

He has no answer for that. They stare at each other and Nicolò realises what he has to do.

He reaches out and takes Yusuf’s hand. When he tangles their fingers together, Yusuf lets him, and his next breath is shaky. He comes willingly, at Nicolò’s gentle tug, and Nicolò traces the planes of Yusuf’s face with his fingers.

“I was scared, before,” Nicolò says, and where he would expect Yusuf to snort, to say _I don’t think you’re scared of anything,_ Yusuf instead just looks at him. For once, his expression is entirely inscrutable.

“I was scared of what I felt, of _how much_ I felt. I knew I loved you long before I told you, Yusuf, but I did not know how much I wanted all of you – and when I kissed you I knew I was unleashing a hunger that would never be sated.”

Yusuf’s grip tightens on his hand but he says nothing. 

Nicolò takes a deep breath. “And seeing you with them? You all fit together so perfectly. You are all so aware of who you are and I feel like I could ruin that. I could ruin you and you are _everything_ to me, I could not bear it–”

Yusuf takes his other hand and Nicolò startles into silence. 

“How many times have you killed me, Nicolò?” he asks and his eyes are hooded.

Nicolò swallows. This is all going worse than he could have possibly imagined; and if forced to choose between him and Yusuf, he knows Andromache and Quynh will continue on without him. Andromache is five thousand years old, she thinks – will he be alone for all that time?

“Nicolò, answer me.”

“I… I don’t know,” Nicolò replies. “Tens of times.” Not hundreds, but he cannot be sure.

“So, if you have lain your hands on me to kill me tens of times and still find me worthy of your love, then how can you possibly believe that your laying your hands on me to love me will be my ruin? Not to mention, I killed you as many times in return.”

“I–”

“I knew you were scared, hayati,” Yusuf says and he steps closer, grasping Nicolò’s hands to bring them close to his chest. “I was, too. But I thought if I gave you time to think on things, you would come to the same conclusion I have.”

“What conclusion is that?” Nicolò asks. He feels Yusuf’s heartbeat beneath his fingertips. It’s so strong, like everything about this man is strong, especially his spirit.

“That we were made for each other. We killed each other and we will put each other back together again.”

Nicolò’s face heats and Yusuf smiles at him, a small, radiant thing, full of wonder. Nicolò wants to kiss him and cannot, for the life of him, think of a good reason to not do that.

“May I kiss you?” he asks and Yusuf is already nodding, reeling him in.

And oh, it is so much better when neither of them are covered in blood, when they have all the time in the world. Yusuf’s tongue darts out to flick over Nicolò’s lips and Nicolò pulls Yusuf in closer, until they’re pressed up against one another.

Maybe this is what he feared – his own greed – because one kiss is not enough, not _nearly_ enough, and he chases Yusuf’s lips, parting to groan when Yusuf gets his hands under Nicolò’s tunic. Yusuf pushes him against the tree again, fingers sliding down Nicolò’s sides and Nicolò finally gets his hands in Yusuf’s hair, tilts his head down to kiss him again.

Heat is curling through him, blossoming at every point of contact, and when Yusuf rocks his hips forward, Nicolò moans aloud.

He immediately claps a hand over his own mouth and Yusuf chuckles against his throat. “Shy?”

“They are… not far away.”

“You say that as if we have not been listening to them for the last few months,” Yusuf retorts. He sucks on a patch of skin near Nicolò’s collarbone and Nicolò pants into the cold night air. He has no experience of this, truly, and yet he wants to please Yusuf, wants to make him feel good, so he pulls him close and when their hips meet, they both moan.

Nicolò has been hard in his leggings since they started kissing. He knows the feel of Yusuf already – has woken to him in this state more than once before – but _knowing_ it’s because of him is a different feeling altogether.

“Yusuf,” he murmurs. “I want to… I want…”

“Later, my love,” Yusuf says. He thumbs one of Nicolò’s nipples and Nicolò curses. “For now, let us just…” He rocks his hips forward again, hands dropping to Nicolò’s hips to hold him in place. 

Nicolò wants _everything,_ but for now he has Yusuf’s mouth on his, Yusuf’s hands like a brand on his skin, Yusuf there and around him and completely and utterly wanting him…

Yusuf bites on Nicolò’s bottom lip, leans back to look at him and Nicolò feels pleasure chase its way down his spine when their eyes meet. Yusuf drops a kiss to the bridge of Nicolò’s nose.

“I am in love with you, too,” he says. 

There are no more words after that; they pant and they push and they exchange kisses that are almost harsh, and when Nicolò tugs on Yusuf’s curls, he succumbs to his pleasure first. Watching the expression that crosses his face, Nicolò follows right after. 

Yusuf slumps against Nicolò when it’s over and Nicolò nuzzles his face into Yusuf’s hair. He wants to never go without touching him, and Yusuf, his hands back under Nicolò’s tunic again, seems to feel the same.

Eventually, Yusuf says, “You know they are going to tease us terribly for this.” He leans back to look at Nicolò’s face. “I can ask them not to.”

Nicolò shakes his head. He is going to fight for this – even if the only person he is fighting right now is himself. “They’re our family,” he says. “Let them tease us. You were right, habibi, they have been terribly inconsiderate when it comes to their volume.”

Yusuf laughs, kisses Nicolò’s brow. “You want to compete?” 

“I only compete if I think I will win.” He looks at Yusuf and when he licks his lips, his love’s eyes track the movement. “And I think we will.”


End file.
